The Chekov Files
by Ryuuko1
Summary: A look into the daily adventures of Chekov during his Academy days...
1. Pursuit

**Author**: I have discovered an undying love for the young officer. Writing him also allows me to be truly, truly geeky--Chekov allows me to incorporate my physics major into my writing, which is _awesome._ Still a little nervous about the Star Trek fandom, but that's my insecurity talking. Anyway. Here we go!

**Disclaimer**: I may want to cuddle the boy, but neither he nor any other piece of Star Trek belongs to me.

---

Chekov, it was generally agreed, was brilliant. He _had_ to be, in order to get into the Academy at his age and do so well in his classes. He was the envy of many, and the pity of quite a few.

Of course, because of his academic brilliance, it was also generally thought that he was a physical weakling, easy pickings for those frustrated with Chekov's genius.

However, the Academy _did_ have some rigorous physical standards—even for those such as Chekov who might never see outside of his assigned spaceship. So, contrary to popular belief, he wasn't _entirely_ a wuss. He may not know hand-to-hand combat, but he had his skills.

Running happened to be one of them.

Chekov, by nature, wasn't a fighter. Never was, never would be. But, he had been harassed all his life for his abnormal level of intelligence, and so had to figure out a way to stop from getting beaten to a pulp.

So he learned how to run.

Not just sprint so he could duck and cover--although that was the first step—he developed stamina that would take him further than any of his usual pursuers...unless, of course, he had annoyed some alien species whose physical prowess surpassed humans_._ He had ample opportunity to hone his skills, though, considering how his age and advanced academic standing grated against some.

His youth and relatively small stature had helped him more than once escape, actually. His lack of height allowed him to escape through places that his usually larger pursuers were unable to reach, and his baby-face made him safe among a great many females, since one kicked puppy-dog look was often enough to rally them to his cause.

He tried _hard_ not to be manipulative, but a concussion and quite a number of broken bones during his youth had taught him that for survival, why bother quibbling about the methods? Those at the Academy were most certainly stronger than his childhood bullies.

It was during one of these flights that he ran into one of his future fellow crew-members.

Chekov blindly turned a corner and ran into someone else, scattering the student's belongings everywhere. It took him a moment to reorient himself and he swallowed hard when he saw a large shadow loom over him. The man who had been pursuing him had a number of lackeys who took equal insult to Chekov breaking the curve in one of their classes. Said he was bringing down their grades.

"Sorry," he apologized as he tried to scramble to his feet, but instead was helped up by his pursuer, dragging Chekov to face level by his shirt's collar. There was a nasty grin on the cadet's face and Chekov sighed inwardly.

It looked like his luck was up. Crap. And he had nearly made it through an entire year unscathed.

Suddenly, a voice lashed out, "What are you _doing_?"

Chekov flinched at the tone, and was relieved once he realized that the person he had barreled into was standing up for him as she pushed herself to her feet.

Chekov assumed she was average height for a human female, but wouldn't have put money on that knowledge. Her black hair was pulled back into a ponytail that fell down to her waist, and the cadet uniform fit her nicely over her pleasantly dark skin. He certainly wasn't an expert on feminine beauty (with good reason), but he would have said she was pretty.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with, miss," said the man (Chekov didn't even _know_ _his name_!) who was currently holding the boy up.

The woman's eyes narrowed. "I think it does. You _do_ know that violence against fellow cadets is strictly prohibited," she said in a clipped tone.

Chekov nearly melted with relief. Maybe he _would_ get through an entire year without breaking a bone!

The woman cited a few more rules and regulations to his pursuers, each which made the man's hand tighten slightly on Chekov's collar.

Finally, the man dropped him and Chekov landed correctly, rolling a little ways away before settling into a crouch that would allow him to bolt if they tried anything else.

Thankfully, they didn't. They hurled a few more insults that Chekov had heard a thousand times before prior to stalking off.

Chekov released a breath he hadn't known he was holding before standing. He gave the woman a shy, thankful smile. "Sank you, Meess...?"

"Uhura," she answered. "Now, tell me what I just saved you from?"

Chekov sighed softly and launched into an explanation. "Well, we are taking a Quantum Grawity class togeser, and...I score _wery_ high. Zhey...do naut. It makes dem feel...stewpid. So, zhey _try _to take out zheir frustration on me."

"That's it?"

Chekov nodded. "Yes."

The woman blinked and scowled. "That's absurd!"

Chekov shrugged. "It iz...somesing I am use to."

That statement caused her frown to deepen. "Why?"

"Ma'am, I am sirteen."

Uhura stared before comprehension dawned. "You're that genius-kid!"

Chekov smiled and nodded. "I am Pafel Chekof," he introduced himself, holding out his hand.

Uhura took it and gave him an amused, slightly fond smile. "You doing okay in class?"

Chekov nodded. "It iz _wery_ fun," he said with excitement.

Uhura laughed. "Only a genius would describe Quantum Gravity as _fun_."

"You do not sink so?" Chekov asked, seemingly puzzled. There was a hint of a laugh in his voice, though, indicating he _knew_ how odd that sounded...and really didn't mind.

Uhura smiled. "No, not really. Do _you_ know anything about xenolinguistics?"

Chekov blinked and cocked his head to the side. "I do naut, but hawe heard ze term before," he murmured, eyebrows furrowing slightly. "It iz...alien language?"

Uhura nodded. "Would _you_ find it fun?"

Chekov smiled. "No, not really."

There was a short amused silence before Chekov bent down and started collecting Uhura's scattered belongings. There was a brief moment of surprise before Uhura, too, bent down and picked up what she had dropped.

"It iz good dat it iz not windy," Chekov observed as he handed what he had gathered to Uhura.

The other cadet took it with a smile and readjusted her hold. "True. You take care of yourself," she said and gave him a polite nod.

Chekov gave her a smile and waved as she walked away. His hand gradually fell to his side and he sighed softly. _If only there were more like her!_ He thought before taking the long way to his next class.

He was always glad that he didn't _really_ need to take notes...


	2. Comprehension

**Author**: Again, let me express my undying love for this character. Also, a note about this piece of fiction: there is no continum--you can set these events happening whenever you want, although I am going to assume a 13 or 14 year-old Chekov for the majority of them, unless mentioned otherwise. They're not going to _really_ be chapters either, just...snapshots. With all that out of the way, I hope you enjoy! Updates usually won't be this rapid. It's just that he's taken up residence in my head right now...

**Disclaimer**: Seriously?

**---**

Chekov nearly fell out of his top-bunk and basically dove for the computer, bringing up his calculations. He was breathing quickly, his heart beating rapidly.

_I've got it, I _know_ I've got it...!_

"Chekov, what the _hell_ are you doing?" he roommate grumbled sleepily.

Chekov shot a happy grin over his shoulder. "_I got it_!" he cried ecstatically.

"You are _so_ weird," he heard his roommate grumble before there was a shift of blankets that indicated said roommate had turned away from the glowing board.

Chekov picked up the pen he used to write on the projection of his homework and began by 'x'-ing out a huge portion of his work. He started on a new 'sheet' and quickly wrote down the problem again before tackling it with all the methodicalness of a charging bull. He made great, sweeping lines, the work on the page following his thought process.

He had been _agonizing_ over the problem for the last two days, feeling that if he only figure out one _little_ thing that it'd all click in place.

His subconscious had graciously provided the answer.

He felt distantly bad about waking up his roommate with his tumble out of bed and the soft glow of the board. A quick look at the clock told him it was around 3AM, but he didn't really care—his adrenaline was pumping, and wouldn't let him go back to sleep until he figured out the entirety of the problem.

About 45 minutes later, he stepped back and admired his handiwork. He had _finally_ gotten the right answer, and the work behind it was actually quite beautiful. From a tangle of nonsense, he had arrived at a simple, elegant equation that left him with a warm feeling in his chest. He _knew_ it was right. The symmetry was just...exquisite.

Chekov sighed happily, a smile wide on his face.

Now to make it make sense to everyone else.

He opened a new board and scrolled through his old notes, copying over things in a more organized format, detailing each step along the way. His was an...unorthodox...manner of solving the problem. It made a few assumptions that, if not explained, would probably lose him points—not because he was _wrong_, but because he took a new spin on things.

It took him another 45 minutes to get everything to fall out nicely in order. He looked at the clock and sighed.

_4.30 AM...I'm going to be _tired_ tomorrow...today...bah, I'll be tired in class._

But it was worth it. _This_ was what he had been blocked on—the teacher was explaining it in the accepted way, was using the easiest and most accessible approach. That might work for everyone else in the class, but Chekov saw the world slightly differently. Now that he had worked out _that_ particular kink...well, everything made sense.

Chekov placed his hands on his hips before nodding decisively and saving the file and closing everything down. He looked at his bed, then his alarm clock.

_I can get in another 3 hours of sleep...that should be fine._

Chekov carefully climbed into his bunk and slipped beneath the covers, a pleased grin on his face.


	3. Maturity

**Author**: sorry about the length...

**Disclaimer:** Nope.

---

Maturity, in Chekov's opinion, was highly overrated. Oh, he had to play at being responsible and adult-ish, but, _really_...he was _13._ Surely that gave him leeway, behavioral-wise.

Okay, so perhaps it _wasn't_ the best idea to put something soft, squishy, and overall disgusting (although completely harmless!) on the seat of the _one_ person in his Electrodynamics class he didn't like, but the reaction was so _very_ much worth it.

Even if it resulted in him sitting in a tree far above where the student was yelling at him. Chekov gave the irate cadet a wide, charming grin...and then treated him to a raspberry.

Which, oddly enough, made him stop yelling at Chekov and start laughing instead.

Immaturity had its uses.


	4. Phaser

**Author**: I am truly flattered at the reviews I've been receiving, and am awed by how many people are putting this on story alert and adding to their favorites! Many thanks to you all, and I hope you continue to enjoy my work!

**Disclaimer**: Seriously?

**---**

It was part of the curriculum that _every_ employee in Starfleet learn how to defend him or herself using a phaser. It was unavoidable, even for someone like Chekov, who didn't like violence because he had always been on its receiving end.

So, when handed a training phaser, he was severely--_severely_--tempted to drop it and blame its breakage on clumsiness.

Except then he'd be handed another one, and he couldn't break too many practice phasers without being thrown under suspicion of it being deliberate. Which it _would_ have been, but, still...

Chekov was listening with half an ear to the instructor as she explained the weapon's usage and _when_ to use it, the different settings, etc. The teen was trying to find a way to distance himself from the fact that he would be using it as a weapon against other sentients.

He settled on trying to figure out how it _worked—_in principle, not reality. The mechanics of the phaser were beyond him, but the science behind _why_ they were even _build-able_ was intriguing. How did it 'kill' a sentient? How could that be modified to just _stun_ one? It was an energy-based weapon (more elegant and less messy than the projectile-matter weaponry of a few centuries ago), but beyond that, Chekov wasn't sure.

"Mr. Chekov, are you even _listening_?"

Chekov blinked and snapped to attention, looking away from his phaser and facing her. "Yes, ma'am."

"What did I just say?"

"Mr. Chekov, are you even listening."

There was a beat of silence followed by a few quiet snickers.

"Your cheek is not appreciated," the instructor told Chekov, although the teen could tell she was holding back something between a sigh and a chuckle.

"I am sorry, madame instructor," he said, the perfect picture of contrition.

"Pay attention, cadet. This skill might save your life someday."

"Yes, madame instructor."

After that small hiccup, class proceeded, Chekov paying half-attention.

_How would you be able to control the phaser so it fires only short blasts? Is it concentrated plasma? It certainly isn't just _light._ Electricity of some sort? That would explain the varying intensities and the need for it to be charged. But how would you shape it and why does it change color? _

Chekov paid enough attention that he was able to not hurt himself or anyone else when they were told to take a few practice shots and convenient dummies. As long as he could detach himself from what they were doing, as long as _his_ dummy remained faceless and genderless, he was alright.

"Exemplary skill," the instructor told him when she came over and requested that he use the phaser. "Perhaps there is something to this genius reputation of yours."

Chekov affected pleased embarrassment, looking away and murmuring, "It is nossing."

The instructor clapped his shoulder, surprising him, before she moved on.

"Females are strange," he muttered under his breath.

"They only get more confusing, _trust me,_" his assigned partner told him before firing a few shots at the dummy.

Chekov sighed forlornly before looking at the phaser again, tracing the curves of its casing, continuing to try and puzzle out the science behind the weapon.


	5. Accent

**Author:** Thank you for reading! I appreciate it.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine.

"Valve."

"Vervain."

"Vegetative."

"Velvet."

"Verve."

"Victor."

"Vindictive."

"Vo—"

"Are you done yet?" Chekov asked, looking up from the calculations he was doing.

His odd accent was a source of amusement for a great many people—he had learned to ignore their jibes for the most part, but sometimes...enough was _enough._

"I am shure you hafe be'er sings to do wis your time zan boser me," the young genius told the people pestering him as he put his notebook away and stood. He gave them all a dismissive nod before turning and walking away.

A brief scowl flickered across his face, and he sighed softly. His accent wasn't _that_ bad.

Right...?

---

**Post-note: **So, I'm giving you all some power. What kind of situation would you like to see me throw Chekov into? I'm open to all suggestions--but, just remember, the kid's 13/14 in this story (although I am willing to age to 16). I look forward to seeing your ideas.


	6. Meeting

**Disclaimer:** Not mine

--–

Chekov didn't make friends easily for a number of reasons—his age and intelligence being only two of them (he had also heard the world 'jailbait' dropped more than once).

Oh, he _knew_ a lot of people...he just wasn't close with any of them.

But, then, one day in Quantum Gravity changed that.

Although Chekov was known for being sweet, easygoing, and charming, people were reluctant to sit next to him because they were intimidated by his massive intellect. Therefore, the only seat left open once the lecture hall had filled was the one directly beside him. It was mildly depressing, but Chekov learned to accept it as a fact of life.

Chekov remembered the encounter quite clearly—it was on Thursday, March 23 (Earth Date) that he first met Hikaru Sulu.

Chekov was paying rapt attention to what the professor was saying, fascinated at the melding of General Relativity and Quantum Mechanics, but his attention was drawn abruptly away when someone _sat next to him._

Chekov blinked in surprise. The person who had decided to take up residence next to him was obviously older than him—but it didn't seem like he was _much_ older. Late teens, maybe...? The young man was slightly out of breath as he pulled out his notebook and settled in his seat.

Chekov gave him a sympathetic smile—there had been a few times Chekov had found himself in a similar situation, late to class with nowhere to sit.

"Do you want me to explain where we are?" Chekov offered softly.

The young teen was treated to a surprised glance that he returned with a charming smile.

"You're not taking notes?" the unnamed cadet asked.

Chekov shrugged. "I do naut need to."

The young man—who appeared to be of Asian descent—looked startled again, but seemed to consider Chekov's offer. "After class, maybe...?"

"I hafe anozer class after zis one...are you free at sree?"

The young man nodded and gave Chekov a small, slightly unsure smile. "Sounds good. I'm Hikaru Sulu," he introduced himself and held out his hand tentatively.

Chekov took it without hesitation and gave it a brief shake. "Pafel Chekof," he responded.

With introductions over, their attention focused on the professor.

Chekov never would have guessed that he had made his first friend at Starfleet Academy.

--

**Author**: Suggestions are still being accepted!


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

---

"Did you know you speak better English when you're drunk?"

Chekov smiled wryly and propped his chin on interlaced fingers, his elbows resting on the desk as he looked out at the slowly-filling lecture all. "Really?" he murmured. Sulu was looking a little worse for the wear, while Chekov himself felt perfectly fine. Perhaps those Russian genes had yet to lose their ability to tolerate inordinate quantities of alcohol?

"Yeah," Sulu said, raising an eyebrow. "You don't remember?"

"Sings got a little fuzzy," Chekov admitted with a shrug. "But I did not sink I sounded any better or worse zan usual." Chekov grinned. "Perhaps you jus listened better."

Sulu snorted and Chekov snickered softly.

The night before, Sulu and he had indulged in some cheap alcohol, as Sulu had managed to pass a particularly difficult exam, and since the next day contained nothing _too_ pressing, they figured that getting plastered wouldn't hinder their ability to function "wery" much.

"I am _never_ drinking with you again," Sulu groused. "You don't feel anything at all, do you?"

"Aside from bad aftertaste? Nope," Chekov said with a small amount of glee.

Sulu lightly hit the younger teen, who snickered. "You should naut encourage underage drinking," Chekov said primly to his seat-mate.

Sulu rolled his eyes. "_Please_. I'm sure there's some culture out there who have no drinking age. I'm just...going by those societal norms."

It was Chekov's turn to snort. "Of course."

A comfortable silence fell between them before Sulu spoke once more, just before class was to start:

"I'm still not drinking with you again."

Chekov laughed.

--

**Author:** Still accepting suggestions. The ones being offered ARE being considered and fleshed out, no worries. They'll get posted eventually in some form or another.


	8. Sickness

**Author:** Thank you all for reading! I appreciate it. Suggestions always accepted.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine.

---

"Hey, you don't look so good."

Chekov blinked blearily up at Sulu and gave him an attempt at a smile. "I will be okay," he murmured before coughing into his forearm. It muffled the sound quite well, he had discovered—he didn't sound like he was hacking up a lung that way.

Sulu gave him an utterly disbelieving look. The two simply stared at each other before Sulu grabbed a hold of Chekov's arm and pulled him up and out of his seat, dragging the young teen out of the classroom.

"Sulu, what—" Chekov's protest was interrupted by him having to cover his mouth to attempt to contain his coughs.

"You're sick."

"I will be _fine_," Chekov protested stubbornly. "It iz just a cold."

Sulu rolled his eyes and continued to drag his weakly-protesting friend along. They walked into the infirmary, and Sulu sat the younger teen down in a chair.

"You," he said with authority, "are going to stay here and get looked at. I will be taking notes in class, don't worry. Promise me you won't leave."

"Who are you, my mozer?" Chekov said weakly.

Sulu gave him a _look_. "Do it."

"Fine, fine. Just...go."

Sulu nodded and walked to the receptionist, checking in Chekov before leaving the younger teen alone in the waiting room. Chekov allowed himself to finally _feel_ sick and stop denying how badly he was faring.

Chekov was on the edge of falling asleep when a nurse gently shook him.

The teen, through sheer willpower, managed to push himself to his feet. He followed the nurse to another room and promptly collapsed on the medical cot.

He really, _really_ wasn't feeling well.

"Christ, I didn't sign up to be a damn _pediatrician_. What the _hell _is a _14-year-old_ doing in the _Academy_ anyway?!" Chekov heard someone exclaim outside his room.

"He's that Chekov kid. You know, the prodigy?"

"They shouldn't allow _kids_ into the Academy! At that age they _don't know_ what they're getting themselves into!"

"Take it up with Admissions. Right now, said genius is in there, obviously unwell. Time to prove that you really _were_ a doctor before you signed up."

Chekov was too tired to bother opening his eyes, but he heard when someone entered the room. "Kid, I'll need you to talk to me," the voice he had heard said. The tone was quite different from what it had been before. There was actually _concern_ in it. Well, there had _always_ been concern in it, but now it was more obvious.

Chekov hesitantly opened his eyes. "Da? Uh...yes?"

"Christ," he heard the man who was slowly swimming into view mutter. "You speak English?"

"Yes," Chekov answered firmly. He could deal with one-word answers. As long as he didn't ask him more complicated things, Chekov figured he should be fine.

The nice doctor asked Chekov the routine questions, the teen's answers occasionally interrupted by severe chills that made him shiver and wish he still had the five blankets he had managed to procure to hide under or coughing fits.

"When did this start?" the doctor asked. There was an obvious frown in his voice.

"T-two days ago," Chekov answered. All these questions were _exhausting._

"Did you feel sick before then?"

"I had a small cold...it was nossing..."

The doctor grunted softly and Chekov figured he was looking over the scanner readings. "Well, kid, hate to tell you, but you have pneumonia."

"What?" Chekov asked. That was an awfully big word. He probably wouldn't be able to spell it.

"You got family nearby?"

"No. Zhey are all in Russia..."

The man used some inventive swearwords that Chekov filed away for later. "Then you're staying here. We're able to cure most things, but some require just bedrest and time. The common cold, flu, and this lovely little illness _you've_ managed to contract are among the few. You're going to get a room here and _rest_. Since you're young you should recover quickly."

"What's your name?" Chekov asked. He liked the man. A little rough around the edges, but he _cared_. He could tell that much.

"Never told you?" the man sounded distantly surprised. "I'm Dr. McCoy."

"Sank you, sir," Chekov said.

The man snorted. "Just doin' my job. We'll get you a room. You just rest and with what medicine we _can_ give you to help you fight off this infection you'll be on your feet again tomorrow evening at the latest."

"Okay," Chekov answered. "I am going to sleep now..."

"You do that, kid."

The exasperated/amused/concerned note in the man's voice made Chekov smile faintly. It was nice knowing that someone who cared about his health had taken care of him.

--

"Better already?" Sulu asked as Chekov slid into the seat across from his friend at lunch the next day.

"Wery much so," the young teen replied with his normal enthusiasm. "I had a _wery_ nice doctor. Well, he was nice _to me._"

"Oh?"

Chekov happily began to lay out the merits—and flaws—of one Doctor McCoy that he had observed while half-lucid.

"It iz amazing what people will say when zey sink you are not lissening," Chekov concluded happily.

Sulu simply shook his head in disbelief. "Only _you_ would be able to do something like that while _really_ sick."

Chekov merely shrugged and gave his friend a grin.


	9. Fight

**Author**: Update schedule? What update schedule? Things will probably continue this way--lots of updates real quickly followed by long dry-spells. Sorry. Thank you for your patience and patronage!

**Disclaimer**: Seriously?

–--

"You know, I wouldn't have thought someone like you would have that much bite to you," the older cadet told the scowling Chekov. "You got quite a temper."

"Zhey should naut hafe insulted her," Chekov growled. "It iz not her fault being how she is."

Chekov tried his best to keep out of fights, and succeeded for the most part. Afterall, there was no insult that could be thrown at him that he hadn't heard at least _once_ before.

But, his acquaintances? Well, _that_ was a different story.

For the most part, his acquaintances were mature and strong enough that they could handle anything thrown their way—or, at least, that's what Chekov liked to believe. But, he knew that there were always certain buttons that could be pushed that would get underneath the protections that his acquaintances had.

Chekov _really_ didn't like it when people were picked on for being different.

So, when one of his half-human acquaintances was being ridiculed and she found herself unable to fight back, Chekov had stood up for her.

The older cadets _really_ hadn't like the verbal dressing-down a 14-year-old managed to pull on them. So, they engaged him physically.

Chekov didn't have any formal fighting training, but what he had learned, he had learned the hard way. He fought _dirty._

"I don't think that one guy's ever gonna be able to have kids," the cadet sitting next to him mused.

"Why did you help me?" Chekov asked, curious.

The cadet shrugged, as if almost embarrassed to have to admit to actively helping Chekov. "I saw them picking on a kid who was defending the honor of a _quite_ lovely young lady and, well...that was that."

"Sank you," Chekov said in all seriousness.

The other cadet waved a hand dismissively before wincing at the movement. "You know you're gonna get in trouble for that."

Chekov shrugged before cringing, a hand going to his shoulder. "It is alright. I do naut mind. I will be able to get around it."

"Really?"

Chekov nodded slightly, already thinking. "Of course."

The cadet stared at him for a long moment before laughing. "You know, kid, you've got some balls. How old're you anyway?"

"Fourteen," Chekov answered absently.

The cadet looked briefly astonished. "How the _hell_ did you get in?"

Chekov drew himself out of his thoughts before giving the older cadet a bashful smile. "It was nossing..."

"Oh, c'mon, _tell me_. We got time..."

"It is naut interesting..."

The cadet continued to try and convince Chekov to tell him how he managed to get into the Academy so young, but his prying was cut short by a doctor coming in.

"_JIM WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"_ the doctor half-snarled before stalking over the cadet sitting next to Chekov, grabbing him by the elbow, and yanking him to his feet.

"Easy, Bones, easy! I'm hurt, y'know."

"_Why_ the _hell_ do you do these things to yourself? Can't you just spend, oh, I don't know, _one day_ without me seeing you?!" the doctor harangued the cadet, leading him away.

Chekov blinked and found himself snickering. He sighed heavily and leaned back against the wall, body protesting the movement.

_Bones? What kind of nickname is _that...?

He shrugged, figuring it didn't matter, before settling himself more comfortably, waiting to be seen.


End file.
